


The Princess of Desier

by Laylah



Category: Tales of Vesperia
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Fantasy, Masturbation, Other, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-14
Updated: 2009-11-14
Packaged: 2017-10-02 16:06:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She puts out the light and pulls up the covers, but she isn't sleepy at all. When she closes her eyes, it's easy to imagine she's laid out not in her own bed but on the heaps of soft cushions in the desert prince's tent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Princess of Desier

The bell tower begins to toll the changing of the guard, and Estellise starts guiltily. She hadn't meant to stay up so late! And her tutors will be so disappointed if she's nodding off over her lessons tomorrow. It's just that _The Princess of Desier_ has gotten so interesting in this last chapter. The bandits were exciting enough, in a sort of frightening way, but now that the warrior-prince has showed up....

Estellise sighs, marks her place and tucks the book under her pillow carefully. She really should get to sleep.

She puts out the light and pulls up the covers, but she isn't sleepy at all. When she closes her eyes, it's easy to imagine she's laid out not in her own bed but on the heaps of soft cushions in the desert prince's tent. ("It was a period of terrible deprivation," her history tutor has told her, rolling his Rs, and Estellise has read dry tomes on the settlement of Mantaic that agree -- but still she likes the version in _The Princess of Desier_ much better.) The air would be warm and sultry -- she's not sure what makes air _sultry_, really, but the book is quite insistent on that point -- and her prince would smile at her in a way that no man dares to in real life.

She's already forgotten what the prince is supposed to look like. In her imagination, he looks like Flynn, young and handsome, only with more daring in his eyes and far less modesty in both his costume and his manners. He would ask her, holding her by the arms, if she was all right, if those ruffians had taken liberties.

No, she would tell him. He arrived just in time, and she was unhurt. She would be disheveled, though -- such a fun word, even just to say to herself and not aloud -- and his eyes would wander some.

And he would tell her how glad he was to have been of service, and he would -- no, _she_ would kiss _him_. That would be even better, wouldn't it? Estellise takes a shivery little breath. She imagines her bosom is heaving. She would kiss him, and he would pull her close. He would taste of the desert, which she imagines must be a sort of sharp, tangy flavor, and he would smell like Flynn does when she catches him coming back from drills with the knights. He would crush her close against him --

Estellise cups her breasts in her own hands, brushing her fingertips over her nipples, through the thin silk of her nightgown. Little thrills of pleasure hum through her, make her feel the way her pulse beats between her legs. Her wild prince would lay her down there, on those cushions that he used in place of a bed, and the air of his tent would be sweet with incense. He would strip her of her torn dress, and remark on her alabaster skin, for she was still new to the desert -- only that part seems silly, when she's picturing him as fair as Flynn. He would remark on the _softness_ of her skin, then, and lower his head to kiss her breasts. Estellise squirms, pressing her thighs tight together, and pinches her nipples, imagining that she feels his teeth there.

She can't hold out for long, and she thinks her patience would be even less with her prince. How could she be expected to wait when he was so alluring? Estellise rolls over and reaches for her other pillow, the one with the hidden pocket sewn into it.

The young ladies of _The Lost Krityan Colony_ \-- which Estellise is sure was shelved in the main palace library by mistake -- were fond of pleasuring themselves with the aid of an olisbos in the absence of male company. Estellise has nothing of the kind, though she thinks she might like one if she had any means of acquiring it. In the meantime, though, she has an empty crystal perfume vial, slender and polished smooth, which she has adapted to a similar purpose. She retrieves it from hiding and presses it between her thighs, holding it there to warm it against her skin.

For a moment the chill is almost a distraction -- surely there would be nothing so cold in the desert! But Estellise closes her eyes and thinks warm thoughts -- the smoldering gaze of her warrior prince, the rough heat of his hands. She touches her breasts again, her nipples peaked and sensitive. She feels so needy, so warm herself. As soon as the vial has warmed enough that she thinks she can stand it, she reaches down to guide it into place.

Her folds are slick, and she spreads her legs, heels braced against the bed. There's one breath of almost-too-much as she first pushes, and then she's full, so full. It's about this point when she always feels she doesn't have enough hands for every place she wants to be touched. It would be better with Fl -- with someone, wouldn't it? He would fill her like this -- though warmer, she's sure -- and could still stroke the tender nub of flesh that she presses her fingers to now. Then his other hand could tease one of her nipples, and his mouth -- she's asking a lot of him, isn't she? But it's her version of the story, so let it happen that way. Let her prince be not only the most ferocious warrior to hunt in Desier's sands, but also the most attentive lover. She rocks her makeshift olisbos inside herself, keeping it deep inside, and strokes quickly. Her breath falters, pleasure tingling through her, building until it spills over, impossible to contain, a wash of golden light behind her eyes.

For a few moments she simply lies still, listening to the sound of her own breathing and feeling little aftershocks of pleasure hum along her limbs. Then she eases the crystal vial free, slowly, carefully. She has a spare chemise to wrap it in for now, and in the morning she can clean it carefully before she returns it to its hiding place. For tonight, she had best get some sleep. She'll have to discuss the less exciting version of the desert settlement tomorrow morning, after all, and there won't be any desert prince to rescue her from that.


End file.
